


Almost Romantic

by NightlockFray



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, American Museum of Natural History, Butterflies, M/M, Museums, Nerdiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 13:50:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3328703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightlockFray/pseuds/NightlockFray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Have you been ditched?” says Jehan, standing just a little closer than he was before.<br/>Combeferre jumps, but manages to sound almost casual as he says, “So it would seem.”</p>
<p>-------</p>
<p>Jehan works at a museum.<br/>Combeferre definitely does <i> not </i> have a ridiculous crush on his accidental tour guide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost Romantic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lanthanesthai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanthanesthai/gifts).



> Happy Valentines Day. Enjoy! xx

“Hey, you look lost. Can I help you with anything?”

Combeferre startles, turning around to see someone standing at his elbow. Around his neck hangs a museum employee badge, with a nametag that reads “Jehan”. Combeferre takes in the boy’s slight frame, his long wispy braided hair, and the blue eyes peeking out from underneath his eyelashes.

Jehan shuffles slightly from foot to foot, and Combeferre blinks, realizing that he’s probably been staring.

“Oh…” he stammers, scrambling to remember what the question was. “I was just, um -“ He’s cut off by the sounds of ABBA blaring from his phone. He jumps - again - and reaches for his pocket, cursing Courfeyrac’s love for Dancing Queen and his insistence at having a personalized ringtone. “Sorry!” he says to Jehan. “Just a second.”

“Hey Courf, where are you?” Combeferre says into his phone. “I was just about to call.”

“Listen ‘Ferre, about that,” Courfeyrac sounds apologetic, “it seems our fearless leader is down with an absolutely abysmal cold, and I’m proclaiming him unfit to be out in public, on account of his general germiness.”

“A cold? Courf, it’s May?”

“Yeah, well, tell that to his immune system.”

“Courf, I am _fine._ We can go!” Combeferre hears Enjolras protest in the background, his voice muffled, either by distance or a superbly blocked nose, and most likely both. He hears a faint commotion and then Courf cursing.

“Sit down Enjolras, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Combeferre can hear the exasperation in Courfeyrac’s voice; clearly, they’ve been having this argument for a while now.

“He won’t admit it,” Courfeyrac says into the phone, “but I’m pretty sure he’s got a fever. He’s dizzy; he nearly fell over just now trying to get up. I know you were really looking forward to this, and I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’re gonna be able to make it. I’d come, but you know what Enjolras is like, if I leave, there’s no way he’ll stay in bed."

“Of course,” By now, Combeferre is well accustomed to Enjolras’ hatred of illness, and determination to deny that he is sick at all. “Do you want me to come over instead? I could bring soup or something, we’ll sit on the couch and watch movies.”

“Nah, Ferre don’t do that,” Courfeyrac insists. “And I don’t mean that, in like a mean way or anything, you know I’d love to see you, but you’ve been looking forward to this museum trip for ages, and you’re not in town for long, if you don’t go now you won’t go at all. Take a few hours, enjoy yourself first, it’s not like we’re going anywhere.”

Combeferre sighs. Courf does have a point. “Alright. But I’ll be there soon. It’s not the same without you. I miss you.”

“Aww, we miss you too, ‘Ferre. Go be nerdy. We’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Have you been ditched?” says Jehan, standing just a little closer than he was before.

Combeferre jumps, again. He really needs to stop with that. He coughs, trying to cover it up, and manages to sound almost casual as he says, “So it would seem.”

“That sucks,” replies Jehan sympathetically. “Is this your first visit here?”

“Not at all. But it’s my first in a long time.”

“Welcome back then,” Jehan smiles. “I’m Jehan. Can I direct you to anything in particular?”

Combeferre definitely does not feel disappointed at his polite, professional tone. There would be absolutely no reason for that, Jehan’s just doing his job, and also Combeferre has literally just met him. But there’s something in those eyes that’s caught his attention.

Also, he’s staring again.

“No, thank you,” he replies, trying not to let his disappointment show. “I think I’m good.”

Jehan nods and starts to leave, but turns back around at the last second.

“Hey, if you don’t mind the company, I could show you around?” he offers. “I don’t have much to do.”

_I wouldn’t mind that one bit_ , Combeferre thinks, but common courtesy makes him ask, “Are you sure? I mean...would that be okay? I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble.”

Jehan shrugs, casual. “Nah. I’m just interning, they don’t really care much what I do. You’d be doing me a favour honestly; most of my job is standing around waiting for someone to ask me a question.”

Combeferre smiles. “Well in that case, I’d love to.”

Jehan beams at him. “Great! Where do you want to start? I’m sure there’s got to be _something_ you particularly want to see.”

“Is it too ambitious to say that I want to see everything?”

That gets him a wicked grin. “Not at all. Follow me.”

Jehan leads him through an increasingly complicated series of twists and turns, through halls and corridors, occasionally shooting a smile or calling a greeting at employees and visitors alike.

“I just realized - I never caught your name?” Jehan asks, still walking towards some as yet unknown destination.

“Call me Combeferre,” he replies. “Where are we going anyway?”

“You’ll see!”

After a few minutes, they come to a door leading into a larger hall, with a small queue of people waiting to go in. They get into line, and enter into a covered passageway. The right wall of the passageway is lined with a series of panels, while the left wall is transparent. But Combeferre barely has time to look around before Jehan hurries him along towards another door at the end of the corridor.

They step through into a large open space filled with greenery. The space resembles a rainforest, with various exotic plants and atmospheric lighting. The carpeted floor and hanging light fixtures serve as the only reminder that they’re still in the middle of a city. Combeferre glimpses a flutter of movement between the plants, quick flashes of colour, and can’t stop his small but sharp intake of breath as he realizes what he’s looking at.

Beside him, Jehan smiles, “I thought you’d like it.”

“How did you know?” Combeferre gasps.

Jehan gestures slightly towards his arm. “Your tattoo,” he says simply.

Combeferre looks down at the monarch butterfly tattooed onto his forearm, and hopes that his dark skin hides his blush. _He noticed_ , he thinks, and tries to hold back a rush of pleasure at the thought.

“I didn’t know they had a butterfly conservatory here,” he says instead.

“It’s pretty new and it’s only a temporary thing, even though it doesn’t look it,” Jehan explains. “You’re lucky you caught it actually, it’s closing soon.” He goes on to outline the structure of the enclosure – the vivarium, it’s called, describing the custom temporary shell-structure that features butterflies from three of the five butterfly families flying around freely, in a completely sealed, self-contained environment.

Combeferre isn’t sure what interests him most – the architecture, the butterflies, or the man explaining all of this to him. Jehan has an easy, comfortable way of speaking. His voice is soft, but passionate and excited, almost tripping over words in his haste to get them out. Combeferre can’t help his fond smile, noticing the way Jehan talks with his eyes and with his hands, almost as much as he talks with his voice.

They wander down the meandering path between the tropical plants, with Combeferre occasionally stopping to read an information panel, or just simply take in the hundreds of delicate butterflies fluttering around the enclosure, as if part of an elaborate dance.

“Did you know that the smallest butterflies only live for a few days?” Combeferre comments while they are looking over a display case of caterpillars in their cocoons.

“Really?”

“It’s true. Once they emerge from the chrysalis, they’ve only got about a few weeks to survive. Even the ones that survive the longest, the monarch butterflies,” Combeferre pauses and taps his forearm, “they only live up to 9 months.”

“Seems like a lot of work for such a short amount of time,” Jehan says, nodding towards a shaking cocoon, as the butterfly within struggles to emerge.

Combeferre makes a sound of agreement. “True, but since they don’t have long, they spend all their energy on eating and mating. Doesn’t sound like too bad of a life to me.”

Jehan laughs, “Not too bad at all. It’s almost romantic. What simpler pursuits are there in life than food and sex?”

“Very true. Though I wouldn’t go as far as calling it romantic. There’s a type of fruit fly that lives for 24 hours and still doesn’t mate for life.”

“Seriously?” Jehan shakes his head. “That’s a bit more Capital ‘r’ Romantic then. Can’t fight against nature, after all.”

“I’m not all that familiar with Romanticism, to be honest,” Combeferre admits. “But that does sound about right.”

“Let me explain something to you about Romanticism, and how completely metal it was,” Jehan begins, his eyes shining, and launches into a detailed speech on the finer elements of early 19th century poetry.

Combeferre finds himself fascinated, despite never having had much patience for poetry in the past. But it’s easy to listen to Jehan talk about it, quoting verses and referencing poets as if they were old friends.

The rest of the afternoon passes in much the same way. They move from exhibit to exhibit, swapping facts on whatever sparks their interest. Jehan’s wealth of knowledge is broad, covering everything from literature to volcanoes, exotic plant life to supernovas. They don’t see everything, not the way Combeferre had planned, but he finds that he doesn’t mind. It’s a brand new experience seeing well-known exhibits with someone like Jehan by his side.

Somewhere along the way, talk turns more personal, and Combeferre finds himself talking about med school and living so far from home and everyone he’s ever known. He doesn’t why or how he feels so comfortable discussing these things with someone he’s just met, but Jehan listens attentively, never judging, sympathetically commenting here and there. He even offers his own stories about pursuing an English degree, writing poetry and doing some pretty crazy shit with his friends. Combeferre is pretty sure he has to be making some of it up, but his delicate, innocent face gives nothing away.

All in all, it’s a perfect day.

And then Combeferre makes the mistake of glancing at his watch.

“Shit,” he curses. “How is it this late already?”

All around them, the halls are emptying as the museum reaches closing hours. He turns to look at Jehan a bit helplessly.

“Time flies when you’re having fun?” Jehan tries, biting his lower lip. _He does that a lot_ , Combeferre thinks, and then wonders when he noticed.

“Thank you,” Combeferre blurts out. “For today. I had a lot of fun.”

‘Was this a date?’ are the words that go unsaid

“Me too,” Jehan has dimples when he smiles. Combeferre likes them. A lot. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Trust me, I won’t be. I’ll see you around?” _Was that flirtatious? Was I trying to be flirtatious?_ Combeferre's mind is racing, overanalysing every word.

“Count on it.”

For a moment, neither of them moves, standing about a foot apart staring into the other’s eyes. There’s something in this moment that Combeferre doesn’t want to break. He could lose himself in those eyes. He finds that he wants to.

Just as he finally musters up the drive to leave, Jehan speaks again.

“Combeferre?” he hesitates. Combeferre feels a small thrill at the way his voice shapes the sounds of his name. Jehan’s teeth are worrying at his bottom lip again, and he sounds unsure in a way that he didn’t before.

“If…if you don’t have to go just yet,” he says slowly. “There is one more thing I wanted to show you.”

Common sense tells Combeferre that he should leave. That he should go see Enjolras and Courfeyrac, his friends, the people he is here for. But a small voice at the back of his head reminds him that Courf _had_ said that he should have fun. And that he would probably approve of him slamming Jehan against a wall and kissing him senselessly, the way he wants to right now.

_Fuck it_. “I’d love that.”

The dimples come back. Jehan inclines his head slightly and leads the way, trusting Combeferre to follow him by now.

They’re stopped just as they’re about to enter yet another grand hall by one of the museum guards.

“Hey sorry, you can’t go through here,” the guard says to Combeferre, “We’re closed.”

“He’s with me, Bahorel,” Jehan says, before he can say anything.

“Oh hey Jehan,” the guard – Bahorel, apparently – relaxes at seeing him, but remains firm. “I still can’t let you guys go through. The place should’ve been cleared out like fifteen minutes ago. Rules are rules.”

Jehan fixes him with a meaningful look. “So you know that favour you owe me - ” he starts.

Bahorel closes his eyes, and mutters something about never playing poker again. “Fine. Go on ahead. You have ten minutes, and if you make me lose another job, I’m swapping out your conditioner for hair dye.”

“Telling me that kind of ruins the prank, don’t you think?” Jehan shoots back, twisting a lock of his hair that’s escaped from his plait around his finger. “I’ve been thinking of changing it anyways.”

Bahorel just rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Just go.”

“Thank you,” he sings, beckoning Combeferre forwards. For some reason, Bahorel winks at him as Jehan disappears into the hall.

Combeferre knows where they are, he’s known where they were headed since Jehan suggested it - there was only one place in the museum that they hadn’t been to yet. But even still, the sight of the giant hall, with its soaring ceiling, glass aquarium walls and ambient blue lighting awes him. The illuminated glass tanks bathe the room a cool glow, creating kaleidoscopic patterns on the floor that move with the water. It’s always made Combeferre feel like the whole space was shifting, floating, free, but the effect is soothing, somehow.

They stop in the centre of the room, and as one they tilt their heads back to gaze up at the high ceiling and the full-scale model of a blue whale hanging suspended above them.

“This was my favourite place to visit as a kid,” Jehan whispers, not wanting to break the calm of the room.

“Mine too,” Combeferre replies, mimicking his soft tone. Somehow, he’s not surprised to find that they have this tiny but momentous fact in common. He can almost see a young Jehan sitting or maybe lying down beneath the blue whale, quiet and serene. “It was the only place I felt like I could relax sometimes,” he finds himself admitting. “There’s just something magical about it.”

“Yeah. There really is.” Something in Jehan’s tone makes Combeferre pull his eyes away from the whale, and look back down at him. Jehan is looking at him, his eyes too intense for it to be mistaken for casual. Combeferre feels a burst of desire burning in his stomach. He’s suddenly hyper-aware of how close they’re standing, their shoulders brushing. It would be easy, very easy to close the gap between them, to press his lips to Jehan’s.

“That guy you were supposed to meet here, the one who ditched you,” Jehan says finally, looking away. He’s trying to sound causal, but his hands fiddle with the edge of his sleeve, giving him away. “Was that your boyfriend?”

For a moment, Combeferre can’t speak. When he finally processes the question, it’s all he can do to not burst out laughing. “What? _Courfeyrac_?” he manages to say, his voice strangled with effort of stifling his laughter. “I love him to death, but _no_. God no. He’s like a brother to me.”

Jehan nods, and then hesitates. “Good. Look, just…stop me if this isn’t okay,” Jehan says, before he grabs the front of Combeferre’s shirt and closes the distance between them.

Their difference in height makes the angle awkward, but Combeferre can’t bring himself to care as their lips meet. Jehan’s breath is warm against his lips, soft at first but quickly becoming more confident as Combeferre kisses back. He moves his hands to rest on Jehan’s waist, pulling him closer. He can feel his heart racing, and deepens the kiss. Jehan smiles against his lips, his hand coming up framing Combeferre’s jaw, fingers rubbing lightly against his stubble.

“ _Was_ that okay?” Jehan breathes, when they finally pull apart.

Combeferre just laughs breathlessly and pulls him in for another peck, biting lightly at his red lips. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” he admits.

Jehan groans, and bangs his head against Combeferre’s chest, shoulders shaking. “The feeling was very much mutual.”

They stand together for a moment longer, enjoying each other’s company.

“I should probably go,” says Combeferre regretfully, after another minute or two, remembering Bahorel outside the hall and Courfeyrac and Enjolras waiting back at the apartment.

“Right,” Jehan mumbles. “Your friends must be wondering where you are.”

“Yeah probably,” Combeferre still doesn’t move. “You could come with me,” he says suddenly, not wanting for this to end just yet.

This feeling must be mutual too, because Jehan just smiles and says, “I’d love to.”

**Author's Note:**

> My formal apologies to the American Museum of Natural History, and the 'artistic liberties' I took with its layout and exhibits. (it's been like two years since I last went to a museum oops)  
> The final scene takes place in Milstein Hall of Ocean Life, which looks like [this](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-un5GHgN5RfI/Th2yH1OhE1I/AAAAAAAAC4s/yvASzy_oY1E/s400/AMNH10.jpg) and you can actually go lie down and look up at the giant whale, which I'd strongly recommend doing, it's genuinely one of the most relaxing things I've done in my life. Plus you can have _sleepovers_ there, which is the coolest thing ever.
> 
> Also, I realised about 3/4 of the way through writing this thing that for a Valentines Day fic, there is not a single mention of Valentines Day itself. I'd like to say that that's a product of my belief that love should be an every-day thing, but honestly, I just forgot. Sorry about that!  
>    
> This is the first work of fanfiction I've ever completed and published, so thanks for reading!  
> comments, kudos, etc would be very much appreciated  
> [tumblr](http://www.aarontveyt.tumblr.com)


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